A festival of butterflies
It’s late July 2026, and I’m enjoying Fermanagh’s Lakelands from a lofty wooded ridge. Though the county's famous rain has finally arrived, the countryside has been baking in hot sunshine for a month. This summer, for those of us old enough to remember, has been reminiscent of 1976. We had a fine dry spell last spring but this one’s more like the golden summers of yesteryear.
With hardly a black silage bag in sight, it feels like the whole country has been cut for hay, and the butterflies on Fedian are having a field day. Squadrons of marsh fritillaries were on the wing until June but, having completed their life cycle, have since disappeared. All that remains of their dashing presence are symmetrical clusters of eggs on the underside of blue button leaves. Turning from yellow to brown, the tiny eggs resemble couscous, carefully laid out on pale green plates. We wish the class of ‘26 well, as they embark on their tortuous journey to adulthood next spring.
Generations of other butterflies now adorn the grasslands and hedges of Fedian. In their smart brown suits, ringlets and speckled woods flit between different species of whites. Harder to follow, narrow-bordered bee hawkmoths zoom past, and dingy skippers skulk moth-like in sheltered corners. Migratory painted ladies, then red admirals add a bold splash of colour, and showy tortoiseshells and peacocks soon catch the eye.
Peacocks have recently been voted the public’s favourite in a competition run by our colleagues at Butterfly Conservation. My vote went to the delicate and perfectly formed small copper, well-named and tucked away in the purple-moor grass. As with flowers, the colours change through the season, and by July silver-washed fritillaries are flashing their spectacular orange wings about. Known as the queen of fritillaries, it’s easy to see why.